


Fair Grounds

by GeekishChic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Because She's Only Telling The Truth, But No One Cares, First Time, Fluff, Jack And Sophie Ship It So Hard, M/M, Parentlock, Smut, Sophie Talks Rather A Lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2353856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekishChic/pseuds/GeekishChic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mycroft gets to meet the kiddos after receiving an unexpected afternoon off from <strike>running the country</strike> work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fair Grounds

**Author's Note:**

> I think I may have a problem.

Mycroft had no idea why he was here. Scratch that. There was very little Mycroft Holmes didn't know. It was more accurate to say that he had no business there. He was a just about middle-aged man with no children. His thousand-pound three-piece presence would be, as the object of his affections would say, "creepy" under different circumstances. Also, what exactly was the appeal of places like this? It was noisy, swarming with goldfish, opening and closing their gobs meaninglessly and eating until they were sick. It was dusty, grimy, the rides ridiculous, the "games" rigged. He ignored how good the candy floss smelled. He preferred the blue, for flavour and the colour it turned his tongue...

 

He knew Greg hadn't invited him thinking in a thousand years he'd ever show, but Mycroft had to keep himself on his toes by practicing keeping others on theirs. That's how he justified it to himself, anyway. He hadn't even planned any of this. Well, that wasn't exactly true, he planned everything. It was how he stayed in complete control. Sometimes. This was just low on the list of likely scenarios. He almost left, calling himself various names for succumbing to whatever sentimentality made him come in the first place. He'd have to avoid Sherlock for the rest of the day or the man would never let him live it down upon discovering where he'd been. Mycroft went as far as to turn toward the entrance, but stiffened exponentially when he heard  _it_.  _His_  voice, crying out in surprise and... delight(?).

 

"My God, you're kidding me!" The disbelief made the gruff voice nearly high-pitched. He then felt a hard poke in his right scapula and, when he turned to face his "assailant" he only had time to raise an eyebrow before his arms were full of five feet eleven inches of bronzed light. He smelled of sun cream and clean sweat. His toned arms were bare, the stark white t-shirt displaying the Manchester football team crest in red and gold, clung mercilessly to his torso. 

 

"I didn't think you'd come!" he was saying during the actually very brief hug. Mycroft again memorized every aspect of it to be able to recreate in his mind when next he was alone. 

 

"You invited me, Gregory," he said simply, hoping that didn't sound as ridiculous as it did in his head. Greg only smiled up at him, his argent fringe, having grown out a bit, rustling in the very slight breeze. How did a man, not very many years his senior, have a grin like a freshman in university? It was relentlessly, annoyingly arousing. Especially since Greg insisted on touching him all the time. It was never anything untoward, the apparent ease of Mycroft's own restraint born of centuries of conditioning the populace against homosexual relationships as well as wanting to keep whatever was brewing between them to themselves for a little while, in order to enjoy it thoroughly. The hug was the most they'd ever done in public to date and even that could be attributed to long lost friends or family seeing each other again as there was no kiss. Greg was respecting his privacy.

 

"Yeah but this is totally not your thing so why would I expect you to come?"

 

"Because I've made an appearance at everything to which you've invited me," he answered plainly. "Whether or not they are 'my thing'." Greg's peculiar little frown was unbelievably cute as he realized that Mycroft was correct. He may couch his invitations in jokes sometimes, but he always meant it when he said Mycroft was welcome, making sure to distinguish between inviting him and teasing. The right corner of Greg's mouth went up again in that toothy grin as they eyed each other.

 

"You  _do_  know it's about a million degrees out here, don't you?" Greg smirked, putting a hand on the bony shoulder of a wiry boy, about ten years of age, with the same great, dark eyes. He enjoyed football but not in the same way as his father, preferring the technical aspects as opposed to the athletic. Next to him stood a willowy beauty with wild black waves wrestled into a tail near the top of her head. She was pale and trying her best to appear uninterested in the world though it was really quite the opposite. At first glance, most people wouldn't see it, but there, around the rosebud mouth and sharp, grey eyes was Greg's influence. Mycroft had seen pictures of their mother and observed that there was very little of that woman in this girl. Of course people would say there was, in some vain attempt at flattery, but this child seemed to be all Lestrade. 

 

"Yes, well... I hadn't time to change clothes if I was to be on time," he said, his analysis of the children taking place in less than a flicker of his eyes and what he hoped was a warm smile. He actually, for the first time in a long time, would lose track of his features in Lestrade's casual presence. Business situations had always come naturally to him of course but attempts at schooling his actions when they were, say, at a fair were difficult.

 

"That's what phones are for, Myc." Greg was the only one he could bear that nickname from. Sherlock didn't even call him that and Sherlock hated him. He went on, "This is Jack." Mycroft nodded approvingly at the boy's firm handshake that would not have been out of place in concluding a business transaction. "And this is Sophie." He lightly took her hand and bent over it slightly. Her eyes lit up a bit at the gentlemanly gesture but became positively luminous when he said,

 

"You are as beautiful as your grandmother."

 

"Thanks, mister Holmes! People always say I look like my Mum and I just go along with it, but then I saw an old picture of Gran Sophie-I was named for her-and it was like I traveled back in time!" He offered her his arm and she grinned her father's grin as she looped her hand through it.

 

"Mycroft please," he offered to her utter delight.

 

"Oh, you've gone and done it now, Myc. You've a mate for life in that one. Now you'll never be able to get rid of me." The phrasing made Mycroft simultaneously awash with happiness and near-paralyzing fear. Why would he ever even think he'd... The phrasing said 'joke', but there was a tightness around the edges of it he didn't care for at all. Another thing that began happening with the newly breached subject of their romantic relationship, Mycroft Holmes would sometimes not finish sentences in his head. It was ridiculous. But meeting the children went beyond what he expected and Greg was now elbowing him jovially and all was right with the world. 

 

Except for this bloody sun.

 

"We were headed toward the Mindscrambler as our first ride," Greg explained. "We'll be going on it several times as it's one of the few rides indoors with air conditioning."

 

Mycroft's first clue of just how much of a bad idea this was, was Jack's apparently established position of Backpack Minder. The child extracted from it a hand-held video game console and, with a quiet yet rather cheeky, "Good luck, Mycroft," turned his attention to it. Not knowing what to make of that declaration shook him to his core. His fears were not unfounded, as the Mindscrambler was true to it's name. The premise of it seemed to be based on the concept of an electric mixer in a night club. Mycroft decided that, whilst he liked a bit of danger and going fast, not being in control of it was unacceptable and horrifying. He thought he was doing well not stumbling, as he exited the open cart in which they were suspended. Also the not vomiting was a plus.

 

"Poor Mycroft," Sophie crooned as they left the building, even going so far as to stand on a nearby bench to pet the side of his head where the relentless heat had freed the black Holmes curls they'd inherited from their father. He tried his best to contain his, whilst his brother let his grow wild in yet another attempt just to be contrary really.

 

"You don't really have to stay," Greg offered. "You showed up in good faith and are now officially off the hook." He smiled around the words but a twinge around his eyes showed some sort of concern. Did he actually want him there? Greg usually made it clear but there was a bit of a cloud when it came to interpreting him. It was frustrating as Mycroft was usually able to read anything in anybody. It was probably that damn dimple in his left cheek. It was more distracting than anything he'd ever encountered. Except the touching. And the way those deep, dark eyes would shine when he looked at him, no matter his mood.  Mycroft was such a fool.

 

"I am nothing if not resilient," he replied shakily. "However I should probably rid myself of this jacket."

 

"I'd say all your tops but your poor skin would burn. Wait! I've got sun cream." He wisely carried a backpack on outings with his children, filled with whatever one might need including wet wipes, travel toiletries, and probably even spare clothes. Greg set the thing down on a bench and began rooting through it, only pausing to laugh at what must have been a horrified expression on Mycroft's face. "Sophie, here." He held a couple of notes out to the girl. "Go to that vendor and get Mycroft that dark blue tee shirt with the Union flag. Size large, please. And the matching cap." The child flounced off happily to complete her mission. "Jack!"

 

"Yeah, Dad?"

 

He extracted another bill. "Four candy flosses, please."

 

"What flavour?"

 

"I like blue. Mycroft needs blue to go with his eyes and I imagine your sister wants pink but get whichever you want. Meet back here in a few." Just then, said sister arrived with the items. Greg took the shirt out of the plastic sack and held it up. At least it wasn't overly gaudy, the name and location of the theme park in rather discreet white lettering on the bottom corner. "This'll be great.  Come on, Myc." He dropped the tube of sun cream in the sack and pushed the tee shirt back in before hauling the backpack back up onto his shoulder and briefly pinching Mycroft's bared sleeve to urge him toward the toilets.  "Use the change to get yourselves a couple of sodas," he called over his shoulder. Then to Mycroft, "After we get this sorted, I'll go over and get the adults a couple of pints."

 

"Pints?" Mycroft's face went through several expressions, all of them a version of confusion. "It's half one in the afternoon." 

 

"Yeah," he said lightly. "Key word is ' _after'._  You going back to work?"

 

"Not planning to."

 

"Anyone here driving?" He shook his head. "Pints, then."

 

Greg really was prepared, nearly to his detriment. They entered the disabled stall with every innocent intention, Greg even politely turning his back as Mycroft removed his waistcoat and shirt to wipe down and reapply deodorant.  He pulled the cheap cotton down over his form, not loving the slightly snug fit until he turned to Greg in order to ask for the sun cream and saw the look in his eyes, like gingerbread fresh from the oven, steaming and spicy, and dark. They made it all the way through Greg watching him apply the sun cream, even letting Greg rub it into his face, to smearing UV repellent lip balm on Mycroft before it got away from them a bit. The lip balm had to be reapplied twice before they were able to tear themselves away from each other long enough to exit the bathroom. At least they were discreet and it wasn't an over-populated location, but he had to get  _some_  sort of reward for having to wear the hat.

 

It was as if all bets were off once that tee shirt was on, topped with cap. He knew it was most likely the camaraderie born of alcohol whilst he was dieting, as well as the company, but he hadn't, in at least a decade, maybe even two, had so much fun engaging in inane pastimes. He promised the children the grandest prizes from several booths but advised they confine the game playing to the end of the outing so they wouldn't have to worry about what to do with the prizes on the rides. The fact that Greg had the same thoughts made his chest unusually warm, his face beginning to ache from smiling so widely for such a long period of time.

 

Whilst on a legitimate loo break, Mycroft and Jack were left alone on the bench waiting as they weren't in need of it yet. They sat quietly side by side, observing the crowd. In a voice already displaying the edges of his father's tone, Jack said,

 

"So you're dad's boyfriend, then?" Mycroft had no idea what to say to that. Labels hadn't yet been discussed, but this Jack Lestrade was obviously a very intelligent boy. Without removing his eyes from the droves he answered.

 

"I'm not sure."

 

"You are." Mycroft saw a little nod in his peripheral. "He talks about you the same way Sophie talks about celebrities she fancies." He then looked thoughtfully up and to the right before adding, "Except much less swooning and no screeching." He hadn't said 'no swooning', he'd qualified it with a 'less'.

 

"So there's...  _swooning_?"

 

"Only a bit. Only when he thinks we can't see him." 

 

If he was one for dramatic displays of emotion, Mycroft believed he would have pumped his fist in the air. If he was honest, Greg brought out long-buried aspects of himself as well and it was marvelous to know for sure the sentiment was returned.

 

Jack continued with, "You should kiss him." He did look at the boy now, neck snapping to with nearly enough speed to cause whiplash. The little bugger had the nerve to be smiling one of his father's mysterious little smirks, still facing front.

 

"What?"

 

"Both of you keep getting ready to kiss but then don't. It's alright with Sophie and me if you kiss in front of us. If anyone has anything to say about the gay stuff it won't matter. I'm a purple belt in Aiki Do." He'd never felt the need to hug a child besides a young Sherlock, but he wanted with all of his heart to do so now. Instead, he stiffened his upper lip, squeezed the boy's shoulder, and returned his hand back to his lap. 

 

All was confirmed even further when Greg and Sophie exited their respective restrooms at the same time. Greg was about to say something regarding grabbing yet another pint and Mycroft, Jack and backpack in tow, briefly pressed his lips to his. He registered Greg's surprise yet was overjoyed at his compliance despite the astonishment. Further shock was had when Sophie rolled her eyes to begin another diatribe.

 

"Ugh!  _Finally!_  I was beginning to think you'd never snog him. I mean, it's still pretty gross because you're my dad and all, but if you hadn't soon, I was going to push your heads together myself. God! Hey when you get married-homosexuals can do that now you know-can I be bride's maid? Wait, groom's maid? I don't know but my dress would have to be stunning. I think you should do either blue or red because Dad's showed us photos of you in both and they look  _so_  good on you..." 

 

Mycroft registered everything she was saying as they continued toward the next destination, but the words were delegated to the back of his mind as everything else was full of the way Greg was smiling at him over her head. The only distraction was her pausing to physically link their hands. Jack quietly slipped his into Mycroft's free hand and said nothing. The strangest thing about the entire situation was how terrified they all  _weren't_  with the sudden impending change in family structure. Yes, it was the beginning of their romantic relationship and was going to take a little getting used to, but they'd known each other the better part of a decade, hadn't they? They'd both helped raise interesting children that were doing well thanks to their joint efforts(those academic scholarships they'd won for a free ride to prominent schools were a total fabrication but no one was going to tell Greg that).

 

So Mycroft indulged and spoiled and cosseted. He bonded with Sophie over the difficulties of dealing with clever little brothers, and with Jack over the difficulties of the prominent women in one's life rechecking one's maths despite the fact that one has known how to reproduce certain algorithms in one's sleep for quite some time. Jack had won Greg five hundred quid on some match or another using one, challenging Mycroft's vast mind to remember which through the haze in which the only clear thing was the fact that Greg was eating a corn dog. 

 

Weighed down with fatigue, junk food, and prizes(Greg even won Mycroft a little live goldfish which he named after himself and for which he was looking forward to being "punished"), Mycroft insisted on them catching a ride home with him. They had one last tired laugh at the park over Sophie and Jack miming twisting their father's arms in order to garner compliance, before getting into the waiting vehicle.

 


End file.
